Heart of Sin:Prologue
“Come on Selim!” Elicia took the younger teen by the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him after her. “We’re going to miss him!” Selim partially resisted his friend’s attempts to usher him through the crowded train station lobby, but allowed himself to be tugged along nonetheless. As they squeezed past the throng of curious onlookers and news reporters, Selim couldn’t help but feel nervous: especially because of the military police in black uniforms who stood at the entries to each platform, arms clasped solemnly behind their backs. They went unnoticed by most, but Selim pulled the brim of his cap lower over the distinctive red mark in the center of his forehead, being careful to avoid eye contact. He wasn’t in trouble—yet, but he was accustomed to being trailed by MPs anywhere he went outside his home. While the crowd made him feel nervous, he was grateful that it allowed him to blend in for once. Elicia stopped without warning, and Selim bumped into her. He mumbled an apology, but she didn’t hear him. “I can’t see.” Elicia huffed with indignation at the wall of suits in front of her, but Selim couldn’t offer her much help. He was two years younger than she was, and hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet. In other words, she was still taller than him. But Elicia wasn’t about to be defeated, having just noticed a stone baluster that protruded from the end of a stairwell. She marched straight towards it, and Selim shrank back. “You’re going to get stuck!” Elicia exclaimed when she realized he was lagging behind. “Come on, I just need to see which platform it is.” She climbed onto the baluster and peered over the crowd while Selim tried to make himself invisible. But after an initial glance the MPs ignored them, instead focused on monitoring the perimeters for any signs of a disturbance. Central was currently gripped by political discontent, and there had been several recent incidents involving attacks on and by protestors. There hadn’t been any casualties so-far, but the MPs were there to ensure it stayed that way. They were probably on the lookout for Twelve Cenz revolutionaries, who usually wore the titular green stamps pinned to their lapels. The only reason Selim was aware of all of this, of course, was because Elicia had informed him of the situation beforehand. She always had her nose where it didn’t belong: partially because she was the editor-in-chief of her all-girl’s preparatory academy newspaper, and partially because of her insatiable curiosity. Speaking of which… He tried not to glance up, noticing that at his angle the skirt of Elicia’s school uniform seemed shorter than usual… “Uh, Elicia, your skirt—” “There!” She grinned in triumph before jumping down. She noticed his reddened face. “What is it?” she asked. “Nothing,” he mumbled, looking away. “Anyway,” she continued, ignoring him. “If the crowd of newsies is anything to go by, it looks like the train will be pulling up to platform 14.” She informed him. “And how are we supposed to get to there?” He asked, gesturing helplessly at the mass of people in between them and their goal. “We’ll go around, of course. Let’s go!” In the end, they were forced to double back and re-enter via the main lobby through another entrance. This time, Elicia led their approach from platform 13, but her optimism wavered when they met with the line of soldiers cordoning off the platform. Selim could see that only news reporters were allowed close to the line, but Elicia pushed her way to the front regardless. “Elicia,” he tried to stop her, but it was too late. “I’m sorry miss, this section is reserved for members of the press,” a young soldier informed them. He wasn’t an MP, which meant he was one of the regular forces assigned as an escort-guard for the general’s arrival. “I am a member of the press,” Elicia insisted. She wasn’t exactly lying, he supposed. The private frowned, his brows knitting together over narrow, dark eyes. “No offense, but you seem a bit too young to be a reporter.” Selim grimaced, preparing himself for the worst. He could almost sense the steam rising from Elicia’s ears as she stood up to the soldier. “And you seem a bit too young to be an enlisted! Private… ” she nodded towards his epaulette “Private Rookie!” Now it was the private’s turn to become incensed. “It’s private Lang,” he snapped, but quickly recovered himself, his expression a mask of formality. “And I respectfully request that you take two steps back. Unless you would prefer to be escorted to a detaining center.” “Are you threatening me?” Elicia demanded. “That’s hardly protocol, private Lang.” Unperturbed, the private removed a small notebook and the stub of his pencil from his breast pocket. “Name please,” he asked her. “You’re going to report me?” “It’s my obligation unless you take two steps back.” “Elicia,” Selim was more urgent this time, tugging at her arm. She shrugged him off and squared her shoulders. “Then I’ll report you as well, for threatening to detain a minor with no charges!” “You don’t seem to be aware of the fact that you are currently distracting a soldier on duty,” he replied cooly. “Name, please.” “Elicia Hughes,” Selim answered for her, speaking up so the soldier would hear him. “And… and I’m her friend. Selim Bradley.” The private glanced up, alarmed, and Selim began to fear the worst. He had only told the private his name in order to diffuse the tension of the situation, but it seemed the new recruit had recognized him after all. “Then you must be…” He looked between the two of them, and even though it should have been impossible, his frown deepened. “Wait here.” He motioned at his superior officer: an officious-looking sergeant with a full mustache. The sergeant acknowledged him and approached the cordon. “What seems to be the matter here?” he demanded. Private Lang cupped his hand over his mouth to discretely inform the sergeant of the situation. The officer nodded. “Escort these two to the edge of the platform, and don’t let them out of your sight,” he told the private. “Yes sir!” Private Lang responded with a salute, and once the sergeant had gone he motioned them forward. Elicia stepped inside the cordon, resisting the urge to make a smug comment, but glanced back quizzically when she noticed Selim’s hesitation. But, finally accepting the impossibility of his situation, he followed her, shoulders drooping with defeat. Private Lang guided them to the edge of the platform. They went more or less unnoticed at first, but then a whisper started in the crowd. Soon, there was a general buzz among the reporters, and Selim heard his name above the indistinct murmurs. It seemed the presence of the previous Führer’s son was causing quite a stir: Exactly what Selim had hoped to avoid. This was why he had tried to wriggle his way out of Elicia’s plans, but she had insisted on dragging him along, and he very rarely had success extricating himself from her elaborate news-hounding schemes anyway. “Who knew that bringing you along would come in so handy!” She told him, oblivious to the commotion he was causing. Fortunately, the attention directed towards him was swept away by the rumble of the tracks as the train entered the station. The smell of hot coal filled the terminal, accompanied by a burning wind that whipped across the platform. Steam pushed up from the pistons as the brakes shrieked against the engine’s own mass, drowning out the sound of the bell that signaled the train’s arrival. Selim stared up as lines passenger car windows slowly slipped past, and felt somehow insignificant in it all. At last, the train groaned to a halt, dwarfing the mass of people who waited expectantly outside the wagons. The conductor opened the door, and two soldiers in blue uniforms descended first. They were followed by the general, whose wife was close behind him. As soon as he emerged into view, the crowd erupted in flashes of light as bulbs went off, snatching any glimpse they could of the general who had just arrived from Eastern command. General Roy Mustang. General Mustang ignored the crowd as he offered a hand to his wife. He then turned and lifted his two children down from the steps, first Maes and then Anna. They seem bewildered by the attention, staring wide-eyed at the wall of cameramen, and Selim sympathized with them. He felt as though they had just traded places. Elicia, who had been brimming with excitement a second before to greet “Uncle Roy,” as she called him, seemed tense at the sight of Maes. Selim could sense her jealousy towards Mustang’s six-year-old son, and imagined it had something to do with the general’s increasingly infrequent visits to Central over the years. Privately, Selim thought she should be grateful regardless of how often Mustang came to visit. He didn’t have a father-figure he could look forward to visits from, after all. But that was largely irrelevant now, as General Mustang had been re-stationed to Central… And everyone in the city seemed to know why. “General Mustang!” One of the newsies called out, “Does your reassignment in Central have anything to do with the Führer’s announcement to retire?” “You worked closely with the Führer in the past, can you give us any insight into Grumman’s decision to step down?” “Who do you think will take on his mantle of leadership?” “What is your position on the economic crisis?” “Any thoughts as to how you will handle the Twelve Cenz protests?” Mustang ignored the questions as he greeted the officer in charge of the envoy: a woman in her mid-thirties with dark brown hair: Second Lieutenant Maria Ross. The greeted each other with a formal salute, but it was easy to tell that they were old friends. Riza, who stood close by Roy’s side, swept over the crowded platform with her inscrutable gaze. She noticed Selim and Elicia, and said something to the general. Mustang glanced in their direction and his tired expression changed to one of genuine warmth, although Selim read something else beneath his slight smile: frustration. “Elicia!” He waved to her. “Hi Uncle Roy!” Elicia’s demeanor shifted, and she practically leaped to give him a hug. He braced himself as she hurled across the platform. “This is a surprise.” He said after she landed on solid ground. He looked at Selim, who had tagged along behind Elicia, and his gaze seemed to harden with suspicion. It had always been that way, but Selim had never understood Mustang’s guarded demeanor towards him. But then he turned back to Elicia, forgetting Selim for the moment as he grew serious. “Elicia,” he said. “I’m glad to see you, but I thought we agreed to meet later tonight. For dinner.” Elicia seemed crestfallen. “I know—but I haven’t seen you since summer,” she answered lamely. However, the real reason Elicia had wanted to meet Mustang as soon as he arrived, Selim knew, was that curiosity had gotten the best of her. She, just like everyone else, wanted to know—would Mustang become the next Führer? “Plus,” she added, scuffing at the tile with the toe of her loafer. “Once you meet with Führer Grumman, there’s no guarantee you’ll have any time to spare.” “I’ll always have time for you, Elicia.” She frowned, and Selim could tell she was swallowing back an angry comment. “Even though your job as Führer is more important?” she asked pointedly. Mustang sighed, “Elicia, this isn’t the time.” “Is it true?” she asked directly. “Will you be appointed next?” Mustang’s eyes narrowed, reading between the lines. “What is this really about?” He questioned. “And why is Selim here?” “Führer Bradley was a hero!” she exclaimed. “I wanted you two to be seen together, it would help your public image.” Selim and Roy both grimaced, and Selim became aware of the news reporters hedging around them once more. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t need you worrying about my public image. More importantly, I need you to tell me why you’re here, when I specifically told you not to meet me at the station this time.” Elicia seemed hurt. “I’m not one of your soldiers you can order around,” she muttered beneath her breath. Mustang frowned, but then Riza grabbed him by the shoulder. There was some kind of disturbance in the crowd. Someone was shoving onlookers aside bodily as they made a plunge towards the cordon. Roy stepped in front of Elicia and Selim, pushing them behind him. “Führer Mustang!” someone shouted. “Hero of Isvhal… or should I say war criminal.” The green stamp pinned to the man’s jacket gave his identity away, and those around him shrank back, not wanting to be associated with the protestor. “Do you really want someone like that in charge of the nation?” He shouted. “Well do you?” The guards rushed him, but he continued to shout above the din. “Don’t ask him about the economic crisis! Ask him about the lives of millions of factory workers who are fleeced like sheep for the corporate wolves they work for! Tell me, Führer Mustang, how do you plan to end injustice here in Amestris?” At last, the man’s shouts were drowned out by the protests of the crowd. Insults were thrown at the revolutionary as he was subdued, but at last a semblance of normalcy was restored. Still, he had set all of the military guards on-edge, and Lieutenant Ross began to hurry the Mustang family to exit the platform. That’s when the gun went off. The shot echoed through the station, cutting through the noise of the crowd and the hissing of the steam engine. Someone screamed, and chaos ensued as the people filling the platform surged to find cover. A revolver had appeared in Riza’s hands, and she had already pinned down the direction of the gunman. Her mouth was set in a grim line. “It’s a sniper.” Mustang’s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of movement from behind one of the stone arches above the main terminal. “There’s too many people for me to get a clear shot.” “You’re probably the target anyway. I’ll handle this, you watch the kids.” Mustang was instantly deflated, recalling the other times she had called him useless. Nevertheless, he blocked Maes and Anna from the sniper’s view. “Elicia, Selim, quickly!” He called for them and they all made their way towards safety, led by Lieutenant Ross and flanked by the military guards. Selim could sense the panic of the situation—at least, the panic of those around him. But he couldn’t really comprehend it. For some reason, he felt removed from it all, as though he were floating above the chaos. Time slowed, and his feet felt like lead as he tried to run after Elicia. She seemed so far away… His vision blurred, and when he looked down to see why his legs wouldn’t move, he saw a patch of red spreading across his chest. Ah, so that was why. He had been shot through the chest. “El—” Her name caught in his throat. His strength gave out, and he collapsed. “Selim!” To be continued...